


Glad You're Not Roadkill

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Leverage
Genre: Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Eliot Spencer, hit by a garbage truck because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:19:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot feels terrible about the whole thing and visits Alec in the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glad You're Not Roadkill

"You can go in now," the woman in the Snoopy scrubs says. "One at a time." She has the tone in her voice that indicates that anyone who tries to thwart her command will be used as bait for her next deep sea fishing expedition.

There's a tense moment where everyone tries to look at each other without looking at each other. Until finally Sophie pats Eliot on the arm and says "go already, go!"

Eliot all but sprints down the hall. But all his relief disappears and the space it leaves is flooded with anxiety when the door to the room comes into view. He wipes his hands on his jeans, realizing now how sweaty they are.

"El?"

Hardison is curled under the green-gray hospital blanket, looking battered and broken. Eliot's chest tightens painfully and he has to steel his will to approach the bed.

"Hey, man," he breathes. "How're you feeling?"

Hardison stares at him with wide, unblinking eyes, obviously mistaking Eliot's gut-churning guilt as ill-concealed amusement. "Not funny. I got hit, Eliot. By a speeding _garbage truck._ How do you think I feel?"

Eliot sits on the edge of the hospital bed and hates himself a little for fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

"Fuck. I... uh."

"Don't," Hardison says, rearranging his IV tube and monitor cables.

"Don't what?"

There's another tense moment, the four hundred and ninety thousandth of the day, by Eliot's count. Hardison breaks it with an eyeroll.

"You were going to pull the same old Eliot routine where you blame yourself for someone getting hurt, even though there's no call for it." Hardison twists, trying to sit up, then reaches over and brushes his fingers over the back of Eliot's hand.

Eliot leans into the touch. "I... Should have been --"

"Should have what? Destroyed all garbage trucks as a precaution? Eliot, you're an ass." Hardison chuckles at himself, then grimaces. "Ow."

Eliot pushes Hardison back down as gently as he can, aware of the myriad bruises and possible broken bones the doctor had mentioned. "Okay, okay. We can talk tomorrow. You're supposed to be resting."

Contrary to his temperament, Hardison doesn't argue. He lets Eliot push him down onto his back and just smiles up at him. "Thanks for being goofy and overprotective."

"I should get going," Eliot says, standing slowly so as not to displace Hardison any more than he has to. "Everyone wants to come in and say goodnight and you're going to need your strength for Parker."

Hardison's laugh is strong and bright. Eliot's stomach leaps the obnoxious way it always does when Hardison is close by.

"Do me a favour, El?"

Eliot tips his head towards Hardison. "Yeah?"

"Ask the nurse for more morphine for me. And I want you to drive me home when they discharge me in the morning. Y'know, because you owe me for not fighting the garbage truck for me."

Eliot kisses his forehead, letting relief wash over himself once more. "More morphine. Got it. Now get some sleep, Alec. I'll be here when you wake up."


End file.
